Page 19 of Big, Burly Bodyguard

He glances over, one brow lifting slightly. “That so?”

“Yes,” I say. “Beyond the obvious.”

“The obvious being?”

“That you’re very large, very capable, and apparently very good at reading the minds of princesses with questionable footwear taste.”

A corner of his mouth twitches. “High praise.”

I hesitate, then press on. “What do you do when you’re not rescuing royals and impulsively buying flip-flops?”

His fingers tighten just slightly on the steering wheel. Not enough to be alarming. Just enough that I notice.

“I work security,” he says. “Private sector now. It’s why Mike asked me to escort you. This is the type of assignment I get for my job.”

Something in his words stings a little. It’s the reminder I need, though. This isn’t a romantic road trip across the country. He’s a bodyguard. I’m a runaway princess. And soon I’ll be his brother’s wife.

“Before that, I was in the military,” he says.

“What branch?”

“Marines,” he says. “Special forces.”

I blink. “Ohhhh.”

He chuckles under his breath. “I’ve never really understood that reaction.”

“Well, it’s impressive. Serving in the military itself is amazing. But special forces go above and beyond. The most dangerous assignments, front lines, and all of that.”

“Yeah, I suppose. I just always figured it was mostly adrenaline junkies.”

I study him for a moment, the way his gaze stays on the road, steady and focused. “How long did you serve?”

“Just over a decade.”

“And then you decided to leave?”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“No, I didn’t decide,” he says. “I was injured. Bad enough that they medically discharged me.”

My heart squeezes with empathy. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugs, but it’s not dismissive. More accepting. “It is what it is. Blew out my knee and did some nerve damage in my lower back. I can walk fine. Run most days. But not the way they needed me to.”

“That must have been hard,” I say softly. “Losing something you planned your whole life around.”

He nods once. “Harder than the injury, honestly.”

I think about all the things I’ve never been allowed to plan for myself and feel something twist low in my chest. “What did you do after?”

“Went through rehab. Took some time figuring out who I was without a uniform telling me.” He glances at me briefly. “Turns out I’m still good at protecting people. Just with fewer rules and better coffee.”

I smile. “I’m glad you didn’t stop being you.”

His jaw tightens in a way that makes me think that means more to him than he’ll ever say.

“Thank you,” he replies quietly.